


you make a fool of death (with your beauty)

by spiralpegasus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Time Skip, some blood and violence at the start, some consumption of alcohol, sylvix being tender with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralpegasus/pseuds/spiralpegasus
Summary: Felix shows affection through actions, not words. Sylvain admits a fantasy. Felix indulges him.Or, Felix wears a dress for Sylvain, and Sylvain very much appreciates it.





	you make a fool of death (with your beauty)

**Author's Note:**

> me: i'll just write some silly crossdressing smut  
me at 2:30 am, 5000 words of sap and character interaction later: h
> 
> anyway this is the Dress Incident mentioned in kiss with a fist, because some lovely folks wanted it <3
> 
> title from hunger by f+tm!

It starts, of all places, on a march back from the battlefield.

It wasn’t supposed to be a tough fight. Some bandits were blocking off a supply route to Garreg Mach, and the mission was to dispose of them and head back to the monastery. A day trip, two days tops, the professor had said. The group they brought is small – just their house and the professor. They weren’t expecting trouble.

It really _would_ have been that easy, if it weren’t for the den of wild demonic beasts that were disturbed by the fighting. Things got chaotic, lots of people were yelling, and long story short, Sylvain had almost gotten eaten by one of the beasts. Felix doesn’t quite remember what happened after that, just that he’d come back to himself completely soaked in blood next to the beast’s decapitated head, and that Sylvain was still half-inside the thing’s mouth but blessedly alive.

The fight was over quickly, but not easily. The limp back to Garreg Mach is quiet. Even Sylvain, noticeably shaken, isn’t saying a lot. Felix is his silent, blood-splattered shadow. Mercedes and Annette cling to each other’s hands as they walk. Ashe’s nervous gaze flickers around the falling twilight from atop his horse, and Ingrid keeps her pegasus low to the ground. Dimitri, Dedue, and the professor lead the group slowly, Dimitri trying and failing to hide a limp.

About ten minutes pass; the sky is only getting darker. The professor stops, sighs, and places a hand on Dimitri’s arm. “We’re going to camp for the night,” he says, voice ringing clearly through the silence.

It’s the best choice, Felix knows. The group is exhausted and shaken. They’ve all sustained injuries. It’ll do everyone’s nerves good to sit, eat a meal that isn’t marching rations, and get some sleep instead of pushing on to the monastery. The relief in the atmosphere is clear as everyone unloads the camping supplies from Ashe and Sylvain’s horses. But all the logic in the world doesn’t get rid of the tension coiled in Felix’s body. He just – he needs the training grounds, needs to feel the impact of a sword hitting a training dummy, needs to fight until he’s too exhausted to remember the terror on Sylvain’s face. He needs to be stronger. Faster. Needs to—

“Hey,” Sylvain says, and Felix flinches violently. Used to the reaction, Sylvain holds his hands where Felix can see them for a moment longer before he places one on Felix’s shoulder.

“What were you thinking,” Felix mutters without any heat. He didn’t see what happened, doesn't know if the danger Sylvain was in was due to recklessness or just bad luck. The thought that Sylvain might have died during a lapse of attention – it churns his stomach, makes him sick.

Sylvain chuckles weakly. He moves to sit, pulling Felix down with him. The tents are set up, Felix notices dully. The professor is starting a fire. Dedue is chopping something for dinner. No one asked him to help – or maybe they did, and he just didn’t notice? His hands are shaking in his lap.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sylvain tells him. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Felix snorts derisively. “Neither was I.”

“Hey, you got me out of there!” Sylvain says, nudging him with his elbow. “Came swooping right in. I felt like a damsel being saved from a dragon by a dashing knight.”

Felix makes the mistake of looking up and is subjected to Sylvain fluttering his eyelashes at him. He makes a noise of disgust and moves to plant a hand on Sylvain’s face, only to stop when he sees how bloody he still is.

“Shut up,” he says instead. He tries to glare at Sylvain. He isn’t very successful, if the fond smile on Sylvain’s face is any indication. “Stop being so stupid. I can’t keep saving you when you end up in trouble.”

“Aw, but you’ll try, right?” Sylvain leans against him. Felix almost snaps again, but there’s real vulnerability in the tremble of Sylvain’s voice. He was scared, too, probably the same way Felix is scared when he himself isn’t sure he’ll survive a fight. Scared to die, yes, but scared to leave Sylvain, too – scared of breaking the promise they made. 

Felix scoffs and wraps an arm around Sylvain’s shoulder, heedless of the blood he’s smearing on Sylvain’s armor. “Yeah, yeah, dumbass. I’ll try.”

The camp, once fully set up, is still subdued but much livelier than the march was. Everyone’s mood improves with Dedue’s cooking in their stomachs, even if it’s just stew. Everyone’s mood improves even more when the professor produces some disgustingly powerful alcohol, stating that they’ve more than earned it.

After the bottle has made a few trips around the circle, faces begin to look flushed, and tongues are becoming looser. Dedue, Ingrid, and Mercedes are all staying sober to keep watch, but everyone else in the circle is well and truly tipsy.

“It was my dad’s favorite,” Byleth says as he sways into Dimitri’s shoulder. “It tastes disgusting, doesn’t it?”

Dimitri’s nose wrinkles as he takes another sip and passes the bottle to Ashe. “Even I can feel it burning,” he says. Byleth huffs a rare laugh, and Felix wonders how potent a drink has to be for someone without a sense of taste to feel it.

“It’s super gross,” Sylvain agrees. His voice is a little muffled because his cheek is mashed into Felix’s shoulder. Felix has long since shed his leathers and his blood-soaked overcoat, so he’s a little less disgusting to cuddle with now. “Mm. Felix, you’re warm.”

“Idiot.” Felix has tried to take it easy, drink just enough to drain some of the tension still tightening his muscles, but he can tell he’s either more of a lightweight than he remembers or Jeralt’s brew is something _else._ His face is red, both from Sylvain’s open affection and the alcohol. He gives Sylvain an uncoordinated shove and only succeeds in shifting Sylvain down to lean against his ribs instead.

This is where it starts.

“Maybe you should try being the damsel sometime, Felix,” Sylvain says into Felix’s side.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Felix glares down at him, but Sylvain’s eyes are closed. Everyone in the circle is pretending, badly, that they’re not watching them. Mercedes hides a laugh behind her hand.

“You know,” Sylvain says. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah, you know,” Annette laughs from Mercedes’ lap. Her face is redder than her hair.

“You know,” Ashe says, conspiratorially.

Dedue regards Felix from across the fire, stone-faced. “You know.”

Felix makes an incoherent noise of frustration. Sylvain shakes with laughter against his ribs.

“Stop bullying him, guys,” Sylvain wheezes. “I mean – you’d make a good damsel, is all!”

“What,” Felix says flatly.

“I’d love to see you in a pretty dress,” he continues. He’s staring up at Felix, soft and affectionate and very, very drunk. “All—all elegant, and stuff. Backless. Because I like your muscles.”

Felix buries his face in his hands. “Stop talking,” he says through gritted teeth.

“No, no, please continue,” Ingrid says. She’s grinning behind her hand. She is stone-cold sober and therefore has no excuse. Felix will never forgive her. “What color?”

“Dark green,” Sylvain says without hesitation.

“You’ve thought about this,” Dimitri says. It’s said with wonder, not derision, but Felix still bares his teeth at him. Dimitri has the nerve to smile.

“It’s not my fault girls and guys are both pretty,” Sylvain whines. “Girls have pretty clothes and guys look pretty in pretty clothes too!”

“Say pretty one more time,” Ashe says.

“Pretty,” Sylvain says without hesitation.

“I think Felix would look nice in a dress,” Mercedes says cheerfully. “Oh, and a bit of makeup, too.”

“Dark green eyeshadow,” Annette contributes, muffled because her face is now planted firmly in Mercedes’ stomach. “Sparkly!”

“Sparkly!” Sylvain repeats, delighted.

“Ugh,” Felix says into his hands.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Byleth interrupts, though he sounds amused. “We should get some sleep. I’ll take watch after you three,” he says to Ingrid, Mercedes, and Dedue.

“Ah, wake me as well, then,” Dimitri says. 

Annette waves a hand without removing her face from Mercedes’ lap. “Third watch,” she says.

“Third watch,” Sylvain agrees, already closing his eyes.

Ashe laughs. “Guess that means I’m on second watch with the professor and His Highness,” he says, looking meaningfully at Felix. Felix scoffs but doesn’t deny it.

The night is clear and cool. The tent Felix shares with Ashe and Sylvain is comfortable despite having three bodies in it. Ashe, who tends to get cold when he sleeps, is in the middle; he stammered about it for a few seconds before Felix physically wrestled him down onto the bedroll. Well. They partook in some mutual drunken fumbling before losing their balance and toppling onto the bedroll.

Felix dozes off thinking about a dark green dress.

-

Felix doesn’t want to wake Sylvain for third watch, but Ashe wakes both of them when he crawls back into the tent at the end of his shift. Annette is poking the embers of the fire and yawning when he and Sylvain come out into the cool air of the camp.

“Morning,” she jokes with a smile. She’s cheerful, though still a little-sleepy looking.

Sylvain plops down next to her by the fire. Felix remains standing, and Sylvain leans back against his legs. “I think I’m still feeling Teach’s foul brew,” Sylvain says.

Annette laughs brightly. “You sure drank a lot of it.”

Sylvain snorts, but Felix can’t bring himself to find it funny. Not when Sylvain was so scared, not when he’d only stopped drinking when his hands stopped shaking.

“Felix _would_ look nice in a dress, though,” Annette says slyly.

There’s a tinge of red on Sylvain’s face, and he ducks his head. “Uh, I didn’t mean to say that?” he tries.

Felix sighs. “Didn’t you?”

“What, you’re not mad?”

“Shockingly, no.” Felix bumps Sylvain with his knees. “If I kept getting angry at every stupid thing you said, we’d never stop fighting.”

“Aw, you two are the picture of a happy couple,” Annette says.

“I’m not going to be a damsel in distress for you, though,” Felix adds.

“Pfft, you’d be the damsel that ends up saving the knight,” Sylvain says, tipping his head back to look up at Felix. “Pretty dress and all.”

“He’s got a knife strapped to his thigh under the dress!” Annette says excitedly. “He picks up his skirt and the villain’s like, ‘ha, trying to distract me with your womanly wiles, are you?’ But then he takes out the knife and _wham!”_

Sylvain cackles. “The poor bastard would never see it coming!”

“Why wouldn’t I just have a sword,” Felix says flatly.

“Ooh, maybe you could hide the sword down the back of the dress,” Annette says.

“Why am I hiding the sword? Why can’t I just be a damsel with a sword?” Felix presses.

“C’mon, the idea is that you look like a helpless damsel!” Annette whines. “Don’t ruin this for me, Felix!”

“I’m the one wearing the dress in this scenario. I think I can have a sword if I want one.”

“Honestly, I’m struggling to picture you without one,” Sylvain says.

“Ah, but you _are_ picturing it!” Annette snaps her fingers.

“Of course I am!” Sylvain says indignantly. “Felix looks beautiful in _anything,”_ he continues in a saccharine coo, fluttering his eyelashes up at Felix. Felix gives him a gentle kick to the ribs, and Sylvain recoils playfully, laughing.

The rest of the watch passes uneventfully. Felix is still thinking about a green dress. Maybe with some gold? He’s no good at any of this.

But he remembers the tremble in Sylvain’s hands, the way he’d leaned on Felix next to the fire. The way Felix had woken clutched to Sylvain’s chest after Ashe left for his watch.

Maybe he’ll talk to Mercedes and Annette when they get back to the monastery.

-

He regrets talking to Mercedes and Annette when they get back to the monastery.

“That’s so sweet, that you’d do this for him!” Mercedes gushes, her face alight. Annette is practically vibrating, her gaze sweeping up and down Felix’s body like she can take his measurements with her eyes.

“Never mind,” he says, turning around to leave.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Mercedes chides him. She grabs his arm and pulls him back. She’s a terrifying mix of gentle and unyielding. “You came to us for help, and help we shall provide!”

“Oooh, you’re gonna look so cute!” Annette finally explodes. She flaps her hands excitedly. “Oh, oh, this is just like when I got to pretty Ingrid all up! This is gonna be so much fun!”

“Please don’t go overboard,” Felix says in what would be a pleading tone of voice were he a weaker man. “I just—want to do something nice.” His voice becomes awkward and halting. “He. He had—a rough time. With the bandits.”

Mercedes regards him with such softness that he can’t bear to keep looking at her face. “I think it’s very sweet of you, Felix,” she tells him gently. She always has a way of making him feel known that’s both comforting and unnerving.

“Yes, it is!” Annette chimes in, considerably less gently though with just as much good intention. “And we’re gonna doll you right up and you’ll look _beautiful!”_

Mercedes taps a finger against her lips and circles Felix thoughtfully. “Dark green would look very nice on you, with your coloring and eyes,” she says approvingly. “Some gold accents would be lovely.”

Felix kind of hates that he was right about that. Annette picks up one of his arms, making him jump.

“I don’t think he’ll wanna take a ton of jewelry off you,” she says, turning his wrist in her hands. “But a bracelet would be pretty.”

“Why are you assuming—” Felix cuts himself off, flushing. She’s right. “A-anyway, I hope you’re not planning on taking me shopping with you.”

“Oh, how will we know what fits you if we don’t?” Mercedes says with a soft frown. “But… I understand, I suppose. We’ll take your measurements and do our best.”

“Mercie can alter it if she has to!” Annette adds.

“That—that sounds like a lot of trouble,” Felix stammers. “Don’t bother—”

“It has to be perfect,” Mercedes says firmly. She then smiles at him, the picture of sweetness. “But we’ll be taking your wallet to buy the dress, of course!”

“We’ll haggle it down, don’t worry,” Annette says with a grin. “Silk would look nice…”

“Ooh, let’s go right away,” Mercedes says, clapping her hands together. “I’m far too excited for this to wait.” She gives Felix an expectant look. Felix sighs and drops his coin purse into her hand. It’s not like he spends his spare funds on anything but weaponry.

-

Felix is unusually cagey today.

It’s not necessarily in a bad way. He’s not any crankier than usual. Just jumpier, which is saying something, because Felix is already a person who’s very quick to startle. He won’t make eye contact with Sylvain for more than a few seconds, either – which, again, not necessarily a sign that something’s wrong, because Felix is bad at eye contact on a good day. He’s just usually less bad at it with Sylvain.

“Okay,” Sylvain says, setting his tray down next to Felix’s with a clatter in the dining hall. “What’s up?”

“What’s up with what?” Felix says, way too quickly.

“You.” Sylvain pokes a finger at Felix’s downturned face and jerks it back with a laugh when Felix mimes biting it.

“Nothing’s up with me,” Felix says, glancing at Sylvain for a moment before turning back to his food. Again. Weird. Upon closer inspection, his face is kind of red.

“Are you… not feeling well?” Sylvain tries, though he’s pretty certain that’s not the answer. Sick Felix is much, much more irritable than this.

Felix stabs an overboiled vegetable with his fork, flushing darker. Okay. Definitely not sick. “Just. Come to your quarters tonight after the last dinner bell,” Felix mutters.

_Oh._ It’s that sort of caginess. Sylvain’s face breaks out into a grin. “Oh, I’ll be there,” he says lasciviously, leaning in very close to Felix. Felix plants a hand on his face and pushes him back, but Sylvain can feel him shaking with repressed laughter.

Sylvain finds himself behaving similarly to Felix the rest of the day – jumpy, thoughts frequently wandering. Felix rarely takes the initiative in the bedroom, though he’s happy enough to fight to control whatever is happening after Sylvain starts it. 

The fact is that Sylvain has a lot more experience than Felix does. Unlike Sylvain, Felix is not attracted to women and never saw the point in seeking out men with similar proclivities; he’d admitted one night, red-faced and avoiding Sylvain’s eyes, that it’s only ever been Sylvain for him. It kind of made Sylvain feel like garbage to imagine Felix pining after him while he chased every girl in sight, but what he’d told Felix that night was and still is the truth – Felix has always been more special to him than any girl he’s ever slept with.

What it means is – Felix doesn’t like to do things he knows he’s not perfect at, so he rarely introduces anything new in the bedroom. So the fact that he’s doing it now, for Sylvain’s sake—

Evening can’t come soon enough.

Sylvain doesn’t see Felix at dinner, and strangely, Annette and Mercedes are missing from the table too. Ashe keeps sending Sylvain meaningful glances that Sylvain can’t interpret. Sylvain quickly gets too restless to stay, and he excuses himself and heads to the bathhouse. If Felix is preparing something special, Sylvain should at least clean up for him first.

The baths are empty when Sylvain gets there and there’s still plenty of time before the last dinner bell, so Sylvain takes his time. Felix didn’t tell him to prepare himself, but Felix was also too nervous to make eye contact with anyone for more that two seconds, so Sylvain errs on the side of caution. If he spares a few extra minutes to finger himself and relieve some tension, that’s between him and the empty bathhouse.

He’s clean and dressed and practically shaking out of his skin when the last bell finally rings. He’s not proud of how fast he runs to his quarters. Still, he pulls himself up at the last second, staring at the door.

There’s faint movement inside, and the click of what sounds like – a woman’s heels? Sylvain raises a hand to knock, berates himself for his own nervousness, and taps his knuckles on the wood.

“Sylvain?” Felix’s voice comes from inside, uncharacteristically tense.

“Yours truly,” Sylvain says. Another click, like someone’s walking in heels.

“You can come in,” Felix snaps. “It’s your room.”

“You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” Sylvain chuckles as he opens the door. He shuts the door behind him, turns around, and—

There’s a moment where Sylvain can’t reconcile the person in front of him with the Felix he knows.

Emerald green silk tumbles from Felix’s neck in a beautiful halter cut, cutting in just slightly at the waist before flowing freely into a skirt that swishes around his ankles as he shifts. Golden strappy heels peek out from under the hem. He turns away from Sylvain bashfully, and Sylvain’s eyes move across the open back of the dress, the ripple of Felix’s muscle under the golden chain weighing the halter neckline down. The chain swings as Felix shifts his weight, and the emerald inset at the end of the chain glitters in the lamplight.

“I… don’t just stand there!” Felix hisses, his face red. Sylvain’s eyes snap up to his face, and his jaw drops open. There’s dark eyeshadow on his eyelids, green fading into black. A flash of gold on his ear catches Sylvain’s eye – a golden cuff on the curve of it. His lips have a faint gloss to them, and his hair tumbles over his shoulders, loose.

“You look incredible,” Sylvain breathes. Words aren’t enough. Felix looks – radiant, beautiful, ethereal, every word Sylvain used to throw carelessly at women but never throws at Felix for fear of cheapening what they have. His body is all hard lines and muscle under the graceful drape of the dress. Sylvain can’t help reaching out to feel, to touch; his fingers follow the soft silk down from Felix’s neck to his bare back.

“You said you wanted me in a dress,” Felix said. He leans into Sylvain’s touch as Sylvain’s hands roam the bare expanse of his back. His eyes flutter shut, and Sylvain pulls back to look at the artistry of his makeup.

“I did,” Sylvain says. He never imagined – never dared to ask. Felix isn’t a woman and Sylvain never wants him to think Sylvain would rather _have_ a woman. But Sylvain loves Felix in fine things. Delicate things. Things that mean that for once, he doesn’t feel the need to be on guard, doesn’t feel the need to be anything but beautiful. Beautiful for Sylvain.

“I put a lot of work into this,” Felix says. The edge in his voice is more nervous than angry. “You better appreciate it.”

“I do,” Sylvain whispers. He captures Felix’s lips in a deep, tender kiss. When he pulls back, he thumbs the saliva from Felix’s lower lip and closes his eyes. “I love you, Felix.”

He both feels and hears Felix’s intake of breath. It’s not something they say to each other often; they both prefer to show their affection in other ways. Still, Sylvain thinks Felix sometimes needs the reminder.

“I love you, too,” Felix says quietly, and it hits Sylvain right in the gut. Okay, maybe Sylvain needs the reminder sometimes, too. He leans in for another kiss, this one hungrier, more desperate. Felix wraps his arms around Sylvain’s neck and Sylvain runs his hands across Felix’s back, feeling the flex of Felix’s muscle, the divots of his scars. The edge of the silk against his fingertips. The coldness of the golden chain decorating the dress. Sylvain whines into the kiss and holds Felix tighter, and he is completely, desperately in love with this man.

“Bed?” Felix breathes against Sylvain’s lips when they finally part.

“In—in a minute,” Sylvain pants. “Let me look at you? Please?”

Felix’s face gets even redder, but he lets Sylvain step back and circle him, taking in every detail of the outfit. There’s fine golden embroidery along the bottom of the gown, and a single golden bangle on Felix’s left arm. Felix’s pectorals peek out from the draping of the neckline. His loose hair is soft, its careful combing mussed from their kiss. Sylvain wants to laugh, wants to cry; there’s emotion in his chest that demands to be released somehow. Felix is just—he’s beautiful, and perfect, and he looks like a dream. 

“I just love you so much,” Sylvain says helplessly.

“I know,” Felix says, trying for exasperated but landing somewhere closer to tender. “You look like you’re going to cry.”

“Am not,” Sylvain sniffs. He undoes his jacket and shrugs it off his shoulders; while he does so, Felix’s nimble fingers start undoing the buttons on his undershirt.

“Pants too,” Felix demands. “I’m not kneeling in this dress.”

“I’d sure like you to,” Sylvain says with a crooked grin. Felix rolls his eyes and drops down to unlace Sylvain’s pants. It was a joke, but Sylvain can’t bring himself to protest at the picture Felix makes, skirts gathered around his knees, feet all strapped up in heels, hands on Sylvain’s crotch.

Sylvain kicks his shoes off along with his pants, and he’s struck suddenly by the fact that he’s entirely naked while Felix is fully clothed in his elegant gown. He swallows. He may be standing and Felix may be kneeling, but he feels smaller than Felix in that moment, more vulnerable.

“I’m sure you want me to do something about this,” Felix says, leaning in and ghosting his breath across Sylvain’s hard cock. He licks a stripe up the side of the shaft, and Sylvain whines, a hand flying to Felix’s loose hair.

“Felix,” he manages to say.

“That’s my name,” Felix says. He pumps his hand up and down Sylvain’s cock a couple of times, not fast or hard enough for it to be any kind of relief. There’s a smile quirking the corner of his glossy lips. Sylvain would really, really like that gloss to be all over his dick right about now.

“Please, Felix—” He jerks his hips forward as Felix puts his mouth on the tip and sucks. Felix’s other hand goes to Sylvain’s hole, and he makes a noise of pleasant surprise at what he finds.

“You got yourself ready?” he asks, sliding a finger into Sylvain and crooking it.

“Ye-_es,”_ Sylvain groans. “Wasn’t sure if you—ah—you’d wanna top toni-_ight—”_

Felix returns his mouth to Sylvain’s cock, bobbing his head up and down as his finger keeps moving. Sylvain’s legs start to shake, and he gives Felix’s cheek a tap. Pulling off immediately, Felix gives Sylvain a questioning look.

“Bed, please,” Sylvain says unsteadily. Face alit with smugness, Felix stands, silk flowing around him in an elegant green wave. He’s almost as tall as Sylvain in the heels, Sylvain notices dazedly. His lip gloss is a little smeared, and Sylvain's thumb drifts up to wipe it away.

“Isn’t the point to mess up the makeup?” Felix says.

“Fuck, Felix, you can’t just say stuff like that!” Sylvain drops his forehead to Felix’s shoulder. Felix shakes with a gentle laugh, takes both of Sylvain’s hands, and leads him to the bed.

“Want this off?” Felix asks him in a low, rough voice as he pushes Sylvain back onto the bed. He’s a vision in green and gold above Sylvain, his cock tenting the front of the dress, his face starting to bead with sweat.

“Leave it on,” Sylvain begs.

Felix smirks at him and complies, swinging a leg over Sylvain’s hips to straddle him. The silk puddles around Sylvain’s body, cool and slippery; the sensation alone is enough to make Sylvain moan, and Felix leans down to kiss him again and swallow the sound. Sylvain grabs the back of Felix’s head and tugs him to the side a little, so he can kiss down Felix’s sensitive neck. There’s a little scar here, small and white and cutting across the side of Felix’s throat. A close call. Sylvain runs his tongue across it, grateful for every moment Felix’s pulse keeps hammering against his lips.

“Syl_vain,”_ Felix groans, hand tangling in Sylvain’s hair, holding him against his neck. Sylvain sinks his teeth in, marking the old scar with a fresh wound – one that Felix wants.

He’s rutting against Sylvain now, his clothed cock against Sylvain’s bare one. It feels wrong, sinful, to dirty the beautiful silk of his gown like this, but Felix is so beautiful. So desperate. So needy, when Sylvain gets him into bed like this.

“Fuck me?” Sylvain pants against Felix’s neck. Felix’s breath hitches, his pulse picking up against Sylvain’s mouth, and Sylvain grins.

“In the dress?” Felix asks, his voice a mix of incredulous and turned on.

“Please, in the dress,” Sylvain says. He grabs a handful of the silk cascading across both their bodies, trying to find the hem. Felix rolls his eyes and gathers the skirt up around his waist. He leans over Sylvain to the nightstand, and the fact that he knows where Sylvain keeps the lube is—it’s nice, almost domestic in a sexy kind of way. He drizzles it over his fingers, circling Sylvain’s hole before sinking a finger in. Sylvain groans and arches his back, basking in the sensation as Felix moves in and out.

“Good?” Felix asks him, and Sylvain nods. Felix adds another finger and scissors them. The stretch is good, welcome, and Sylvain drops his head back against the pillow and pants.

“Fuck, Felix, I love the way you touch me,” Sylvain pants. Felix makes a faint noise of embarrassment, and Sylvain grins. He’s so easy to rile up. “Your fingers feel so good—”

Almost aggressively, Felix crooks his fingers, hitting just the right spot that has Sylvain seeing stars. Sylvain’s words turn into an incoherent cry of pleasure, and if he wasn’t feeling so fucking good, he’d be annoyed at how petty Felix is.

“Three, now,” Felix warns him, and Sylvain nods faintly, cracking his eyes open to watch as Felix pours more lube onto his hand. He throws his head back as Felix thrusts his fingers in, moaning shamelessly.

“Would it kill you to be a little quieter?” Felix asks as he fucks Sylvain with his fingers.

“Nngh—but then you wouldn’t know—” Sylvain gasps. “Wouldn’t know how damn good you make me feel—”

“Sh-shut up,” Felix stammers, wide-eyed, flushed, like he’s still not used to the way Sylvain makes love to him with his words when they’re like this.

“Mm, you gonna fuck me now?” Sylvain hitches his hips up, grinning. The dress is gathered around Felix’s waist, his hard cock on full display under the waves of soft silk. His makeup’s smudged, and his hair’s a mess. Sylvain loves to see him wrecked like this.

“Don’t be so impatient,” Felix mutters, lubing himself before lining up with Sylvain’s hole. “Are you—”

“Goddess, yes, I’m ready, please just—”

Felix pushes in. Sylvain’s mind goes blank.

“Sylvain—_Sylvain,”_ Felix is saying when Sylvain blinks back to reality. He’s leaning over Sylvain, his head down, hair falling in waves beside his face. His eyes are squeezed shut tight, and he’s starting to drool a little. “You’re—you’re tight.”

“Feel good, Felix?” Sylvain asks breathlessly, brushing a lock of Felix’s hair behind his ear. He’s so sweet when they fuck, even if he never fully relaxes like Sylvain wishes he would. “You can move, sweetheart.” He almost never calls Felix by these sorts of pet names, both because Felix is too prickly to appreciate it when his walls are up and because it feels too much like all the women Sylvain used to ply with honeyed words. But now – naked and vulnerable under Felix, looking at Felix’s desperate, pleasured face – now, Felix is his sweetheart.

Felix sobs out a breath and moves his hips. He fucks like he fights – quick and fluid, each movement flowing into the next with grace and precision. It feels like heaven when he’s inside Sylvain, his thrusts a glorious mix of powerful and liquid, the pleasure not ebbing and flowing so much as crashing into him in a continuous wave.

“Faster,” Sylvain forces out. He tries to keep his eyes open, tries to watch as Felix fucks into him, tries to watch the way the dress flows with his quickening thrusts. He fumbles for Felix’s body, grabs at his waist where the dress’s fabric is gathered, digs his fingers in and holds on tight as Felix falls to his elbows and drives into him hard.

“Ah— Felix, _fuck—”_ Sylvain’s fingers tighten on the dress as Felix sinks his teeth into the junction of Sylvain’s neck and shoulder. He’s desperately, desperately close, and he needs—something, needs Felix to touch him, needs—

There’s a tearing noise. He and Felix blink at each other before they look down as one to see the shreds of silk in Sylvain’s hands.

“Ah,” Sylvain says. “Whoops.” He relaxes his grip and watches as the fabric flutters from his hands and away from Felix’s body, holes torn at the waist and down the skirt of the dress.

“Sylvain,” Felix groans, half-exasperated, half-aroused.

“Felix, if you don’t keep fucking me, I’m going to die,” Sylvain informs him.

“Die then,” Felix says, but he cups Sylvain’s face in both of his hands as he starts to move again. It’s slower now, but it feels deeper, especially when Felix pulls him for a kiss.

“Mm, I’m close, sweetheart,” Sylvain breathes against Felix’s lips.

“Me too,” Felix whispers. The atmosphere is less charged now, less desperate. The dress flutters in shreds around Felix as he sits up on his elbows for better leverage. He fucks into Sylvain, hard and fast, mouth open, and Sylvain catches the saliva dripping from his lips with his thumb as Felix groans and comes.

“Gonna use that pretty mouth on me again?” Sylvain asks him fondly. Felix doesn’t move for a moment, head pressed against Sylvain’s chest, shuddering in the aftershocks, but he does slide down Sylvain’s body once he’s recovered a little.

Felix is too spent for it to be anything but a perfunctory blowjob, but Sylvain’s so close that he comes after a few bobs of Felix’s head anyway. Felix swallows most of it, but some of it dribbles from the corners of his lips, and Sylvain lets out a tired laugh and pulls him up the bed.

“You’re so messy when we fuck,” he says, full of affection as he cups Felix’s cheeks and wipes beneath his lips with both thumbs.

“You’re the one who ripped the dress,” Felix says. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch like a cat. 

“It was pretty,” Sylvain says mournfully. “I feel terrible.”

“Mm. Apologize tomorrow. I’m too tired to appreciate your groveling right now.”

Sylvain grimaces as Felix’s come starts to trickle out between his thighs. “Are you too tired for a bath, too? Not sure I wanna wake up sticky.”

“You’re on thin ice, Gautier,” Felix mutters, but he gets up and shrugs off the remains of the dress and kicks off his heels. He drags a full washbasin over from the corner of the room, and Sylvain practically melts into the bed at the forethought.

“You’re the best, Felix.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Felix sticks his hands in the water and warms it with a fire spell. He dunks a washcloth in and offers it to Sylvain before grabbing one himself and wiping his makeup off.

“Can we sleep now?” Felix says irritably once Sylvain’s finished cleaning himself. He’s always so sleepy after they fuck. It’s adorable. Sylvain pulls the blankets back and wiggles under them, patting the mattress beside him.

“We’ll deal with the dress and stuff tomorrow,” Sylvain says. Felix crawls in beside him and tucks himself firmly against Sylvain’s side, already half-asleep.

The dress is beyond saving, as they figure out the next morning, but Sylvain thinks it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry it ended up being a ton of fluff and not a lot of smut jfdkfjdkj hopefully yall enjoyed anyway! thank you for reading!


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